


position and time

by demistories



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Late Night Conversations, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demistories/pseuds/demistories
Summary: Sometimes, Adrien gets this overwhelming feeling of everything being Too Much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i started this back in march???? and just dumped it in the bottom of my drive because like.... i wasn’t gonna finish it it was just therapy. but oh BOY here we are!! finished?? not edited?? ok not really but these things are never really finished!! i never finish them!! ahhhHHH i still have psych notes!!!
> 
> warnings for anxiety/anxiety attacks

Sometimes, Adrien gets this overwhelming feeling of everything being Too Much. 

It doesn’t usually last too long, and he knows how to deal with it. So he doesn’t say anything. Everyone has a lot going on their lives, it wouldn’t be fair to dump temporary feelings on them as well. 

When it happens, it feels like someone’s standing on his chest. It feels a lot like he felt when his mom first disappeared. It’s sort of hard to breathe and his mind keeps circling in an endless cycle of destructive thinking. It feels a little like he needs to cry, but his throat closes up and his eyes go dry as pressure builds up in his head. 

Adrien tries to distract himself until it goes away. 

There had been one night, only a few days after Plagg had chosen him, where things went from Okay to Not Okay in about ten seconds. He had been laying in bed, attempting to sleep but not succeeding. And suddenly he couldn’t handle it anymore. 

He doesn’t know what  _ it _ is. 

All he knows is that next thing he  _ really _ knew, he was pacing around his room breathing short breaths, running his hands through his hair over and over again. 

Plagg pushed him into the bathroom and forced him to drink a glass of water. As Adrien sat on the cover of the toilet with a glass in hand, he couldn’t stop bouncing his leg. 

“Jeez, kid,” Plagg said. “Breathe with me. In, out. In, out.” 

Yeah, there is a sort of pattern to it. Sometimes, Adrien will get through weeks of heavy scheduling and tense encounters with his dad just to break down because he doesn’t understand a problem on his homework. Most of the time, it’s late and he’s tired and the universe has decided he hasn’t broken down enough recently. 

Plagg is a gift. 

Sure, Plagg makes Adrien Chat Noir, which is honestly more than Adrien ever could have asked for. But Plagg has helped him through every single one of his panics, whether it be with breathing or making sure he’s taking care of himself after. Sometimes, all it takes from Plagg is a “hey, it’s gonna be okay. This isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to us, we can fix this” for it to get easier. 

Other times, it’s not. 

Plagg nuzzles Adrien’s neck. “Let’s go run around Paris.” 

Adrien wrings his hands. “Why? There’s no akumas, are there? I didn’t hear anything or see anything and Ladybug hasn’t—”

“Let’s just run,” Plagg says. 

His breathing evens out significantly once he’s Chat Noir. An hour later, when his head is clear and he’s crouched on a rooftop, he’ll realize that was Plagg’s purpose in transforming. As Chat Noir, Plagg has a tiny bit of control. But right now, the Paris skyline is the most inviting thing he’s ever seen. 

Chat leaps from roof to roof, leaving behind his worries with each jump. He’ll pick them up later on the way home and stuff them back inside, but for now he leaves them to air out under the stars. 

“Chat Noir?” someone shouts. 

He twists to wink at them, giving them a two finger salute. It all feels a little forced and fake, but he’s always operated under the fake it till you make it philosophy. No word on if it's actually working yet. 

Marinette leans against the wall of her balcony. “Is there an akuma?” she asks, her voice laced with worry. 

Chat has to shove away the distinctly Adrien part of himself when he realizes that this will be longer than a two second exchange. He hadn’t realized how much harder it is to be Chat Noir when he’s struggling to be Adrien Agreste. 

“Not tonight, princess,” he chirps. “Just out enjoying the air. Getting some exercise.” He flexes his arms. 

Marinette rolls her eyes. 

“I know, I know,” Chat says dramatically, “I really don’t need to work out.” 

“Of course,” Marinette drawls. She frowns and narrows her eyes, studying him carefully. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” 

“No it’s just…” She tilts her head. “Chat Noir, are you alright?”

He inhales sharply and his muscles tense. The first thing that comes to mind is to leap off the roof and dive to the ground. He’s done it enough times, and he’s not even really that high up. But then Marinette would have her answer. Doesn’t she already? “Fine, princess,” he purrs. “Just need a quick catnap when I get back home.” 

Marinette raises her eyebrows. He’s worried she’s going to push— Marinette doesn’t stand down. She’s confident and sharp and always ready to speak up for people who can’t speak for themselves. She’s expressive and open and…doesn’t ask him anything else. She just shakes her head. “Take that catnap soon, okay?” 

Chat blinks. “Yeah,” he says, half in a daze. He forces himself out of it to smirk at her as he moves to jump to the next roof. “Night, princess.”  

“Night.” There’s a tightness to her voice that Chat ignores as he runs on. 

He’s tired. 

He’s tired, but he doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want to go back to a closed room with blank walls and empty spaces. He wants to use up every second of this transformation, have Plagg help him stay calm for as long as he can. 

He can’t go back. 

The more Adrien is Chat, the less he wants to be Adrien. Chat Noir isn’t exactly who he wants to be, Chat Noir is the extreme character because Adrien is so little of what he wants to be. 

He doesn’t know who he is. 

Ladybug finds him sitting on a beam of the Eiffel Tower. She swings up and lands lightly. His eyes are closed, but he knows it’s her. Not because she’s the only person who’d be able to get up here that way, but because of the way she lands, the way she smells, and her general presence. 

Chat opens his eyes and turns to look at her. “My Lady! Gracing the streets of Paris with your presence tonight?” 

She gives him a tight smile and sits down next to him, swinging her legs over the edge. “Aren’t you doing the same?”

He shrugs and turns back to look out on the city. “How’d you find me?”

“Saw you running around. Thought I’d find you and see how you are.” 

“I’m fine.” 

Ladybug crosses her arms. She’s giving him that Look again, the look when he does something reckless or takes a hit for her or something. Chat pretends to be immune to it at this point, but every time she gives it to him, he feels a tiny bit of regret. 

“I  _ am _ ,” he insists. “Just restless.” 

“Restless,” she repeats. Neither of them believe it. “Alright, if you say so.” 

He lets the silence draw long. He doesn’t have much to say. There’s nothing  _ to  _ say, not without having a complete breakdown. And he doesn’t let himself have those when he’s Chat Noir. “Did you know this is three hundred twenty-four meters tall?” he asks suddenly, rapping his knuckles against the metal beam. 

Ladybug raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t.” 

“Around the same height as an eighty-one story building,” he murmurs, looking up through the iron. He’s calculated the velocity of a free fall from the very top. No reason why, just because he’s been sitting here and it gives his mind something to think about other than rewriting his schedule tomorrow again and again and again for each additional second he spends out here and awake. He’s done the calculations three times but is going to need to do the math out on paper when he gets back, his faith in his mental math abilities isn’t that high. 

“Chat,” Ladybug says softly. He hums in response. “We’re friends, right?” 

He turns to look at her, confused. His heart races as he wonders why she’s asking. His mind is making lists of everything he’s done tonight, today, this week, this month— what has he done? What hasn’t he done? What’s wrong? “Of course we’re friends,” he says, trying not to let his heart leap out of his throat. “Why?” 

She stares deep into his eyes and he finally understands what people say about eyes being windows to the soul. It’s like she knows everything about him and what he feels and what he can’t say aloud. “If we’re friends, you’re allowed to tell me when something is wrong,” she says, eyes large and unblinking. 

Chat could get lost in her eyes. When she widens them like that they’re nice ellipses, something he could sketch out on graph paper. He could probably write an equation for them. His mind isn’t distracted enough, he needs something he needs something. 

He realizes he needs to reply. “I know. I’ll tell you if something’s wrong, I promise.”

The odds of either of them believing that are not good. 

Ladybug sighs. “Alright,” she murmurs. 

For a moment he thinks that she might be leaving and he panics. His hand shoots out to grab her wrist and when they’re staring at each other in surprise, he can’t for the life of him remember what even made him think she was leaving. Instinct just took over and there was no time for rationalization. 

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he says again, because now she’s looking at him a little differently. He says it soft and unguarded and it leaves him feeling vulnerable in ways he hates. He doesn’t like feeling this way. He likes the solid comfort of numbers and all of their constant, sensible simplicity. Emotions are too erratic and inconsistent. They make him biased. 

The velocity of a free fall off the top of the Eiffel Tower will always be the same, regardless of how he feels. 

He wishes he were able to drop something from that height and time how many seconds it takes to hit the ground, just for some more calculations. 

Ladybug gently pulls her wrist out of Chat’s grip and takes his hand. “Thank you,” she says as she squeezes his hand. 

He’s always known how to deal with nights like this, but they’ve mostly been nights alone. Or they were nights with Plagg, who’s just as objective as Adrien is about them. They don’t talk about what’s wrong unless Adrien needs to ramble. Adrien never needs to ramble. He needs figures and lists. 

He doesn’t know what to do with Ladybug. 

Hugs are something people do to express emotion. That’s a plan. 

Chat hugs her. He pulls her in by her hand and hugs her tight because that’s quite literally all he knows what to do right now. It takes Ladybug less than a second to return the hug, running her hand over his hair soothingly. He’s shaking in her arms and he doesn’t remember when he started shaking or when his breathing took on a strange rhythm. 

His internal clock is out of time when he pulls away from Ladybug. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He casts his eyes toward the city below them as his ears flatten against his hair. 

“Don’t be,” she insists. She lifts his chin with a finger and gives him a half smile. “It’ll be alright.” 

Chat smiles back the best he can. Constants. He has constants in life like in any experiment. The Eiffel Tower will always be three hundred twenty-four meters tall. Gravity will always be nine and eight tenths of a meter per second squared. Plagg will be there. Ladybug will be there. 

He can work with constants. 

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHHcan u see where i picked this up againHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH


End file.
